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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28511865">Comes the Sun Again</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/wrack/pseuds/wrack'>wrack</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Endless Days [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Destiny (Video Games)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Festival of the Lost (Destiny), Gen, Hopeful Ending, Incredibly Subtle Flaming Sword Imagery, Public Displays of Fieriness, Self-Esteem Issues, The Farm (Destiny), The Red War (Destiny)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 04:40:34</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,117</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28511865</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/wrack/pseuds/wrack</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The last Lightbearer and her Ghost are a beacon for every survivor who made it to the Farm - whether they like it or not.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Endless Days [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2013730</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Comes the Sun Again</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>On the day of the Festival, they lost two Guardians and gained three. The latter group came stumbling across the perimeter after noon, covered in filth and leaning on each other to stay upright. Caught off guard as they were, it took longer than it should have done for the militia to divest them of their damaged weapons and whisk them away to what passed for a shower. The welcome they got would have been very different if the Farm hadn't woken that morning to find two of its number gone, leaving behind a note that read <em>Off on pilgrimage. </em>Hawthorne's scouts had found them near the gateway to the forest, overwhelmed by Fallen. While she'd been spared the details, Tal had caught a glimpse of the leader's face as he reported his findings to Hawthorne. She'd picked up the tail-end of his speech, too: “They must've rushed right in. Like they'd forgotten they could die.”</p><p>“It's not our fault,” Dewdrop had said, after they'd fled to the safety of the trees. “It's not.” She sounded like she was trying to convince herself. They hadn't talked about it – that was new, feeling unable to discuss a topic with her Ghost – but the way other Guardians acted around them had to weigh on her as much as it did Tal. Some of it was subtle: sideways glances shot through with envy, group conversations petering out as they approached, an air of what she could only describe as respectful resentment. Others, less circumspect, cradled their dull-eyed Ghosts close to their chests and stared with unabashed hunger. And then there was the sidearm-waving Warlock who'd burst into a strategy discussion Tal and Hawthorne had been having in one of the feed sheds. Tal had stepped forward, the strange new fire within her rearing up... and they’d started begging, pleading with her while they held the gun pointed steady between her eyes. <em>Please. Please, I just want to see it. I just want to see you come back. </em>Tal hadn't known what to say. It had been Hawthorne who'd interposed herself between them, talked the intruder down and taken their weapon away. Afterwards, she'd turned to Tal. <em>Put that out. Everything's made of wood around here.</em></p><p>The idea of Hawthorne having to come and find her was what drove Tal out of the woods. There was a subdued air over the Farm, all wrong for the Eve of the Lost. They had the rest of the Festival to mourn; this first night ought to be a riotous, brilliant tribute to the dead as they'd lived. Perhaps, Tal thought, the decision to go ahead and celebrate had been a mistake. She'd seen citizen corpses left to rot in the streets, stacked five high in colourful heaps. In the wilds, she'd come across a fellow Exo who'd been caught with his helmet off; his fading lights had settled into an expression of surprise, as if he were unable to comprehend finality even in his last moments. No doubt most of the refugees had weathered worse. How were they supposed to find catharsis in a lacklustre party, especially when the list of missing grew longer every day?</p><p>But the decision had been made, and they'd all agreed to try. When Tal returned from scouting just before sunset, the boundary line was dotted with flickering orange lanterns. Not half as many as the Peak or Tower would have laid out, but more than she'd expected. She wove between them, wondering how Hawthorne felt about the matter – <em>everything was made of wood, </em>after all – and nodded to the guard on duty.</p><p>“Sorry to be missing the fun,” he said, pulling a face that suggested he wasn't sorry at all. “Bring me back a slice of Hawthorne's pigeon pie?”</p><p>They didn't often speak to her. They never tried to joke around. Tal cycled through several short responses she might be able to force out uncorrupted, chose one, and couldn't even make herself start. She felt her mouth lights flash on and off, a pattern devoid of meaning. The guard stared. Far too late, Dewdrop said, “We will!” Tal nodded again and made her way up the path, embarrassment turning her face into a beacon.</p><p>“Look on the bright side,” Dewdrop ventured, after a moment. “None of the campfire stories we hear tonight could possibly be scarier than that.”</p><p><em>Or funnier than you, </em>Tal thought sourly – but it helped. By the time they made it to the heart of the celebration, her brightness had dimmed back to manageable levels.</p><p>Even she had to admit the decorations were ingenious. Lacking the usual variety of materials, someone had cut scraps of recycled fabric into every conceivable shape – stars, streamers, the odd grinning skull-face – before hanging them up. Tal spotted the colours of more than one Fallen house in there, sometimes accompanied by stains the darkness was not quite forgiving enough to hide. Then a tattered piece of brown cloth caught her eye, and she froze.</p><p>Without knowing where it came from, Tal almost certainly would not have recognised the greyish-white patch in the corner as a wolf's muzzle. But she did know, and it was unmistakable. She fought the urge to rush over to the nearest terminal, pull up the records, and search <em>Rue Berwari and Roj. </em>Just that morning, she'd stood there refreshing the entry until someone kicked her off. If she gave into the impulse again, it would be no different. The same set of missing symbols attached to the same litany of names – <em>Yeva Sokolova and Kyros, Shiro-4 and Suzume, Efrideet and Alambil, Saladin Forge and...</em></p><p>“It doesn't look like hers,” Dewdrop said, bumping Tal's shoulder. “She'd be wearing the mark of a true Iron Lord, not a competitor.”</p><p><em>But she was one, </em>Tal thought, half to Dewdrop and half to herself. <em>Before the Peak, before the Tomb, she was an Iron Banner champion and her sigil was the wolf. </em>Once, those words would have filled her with pride. In a near-Lightless world, they sounded like gibberish. Try as she might, she could not imagine Rue striding through the gates unhurt. To do so would mean picturing her mentor as a mortal, and she had been unable to make that leap – even if there was only one alternative.</p><p>“Devrim!” Dewdrop called, with artificial brightness. Tal turned, shoulders rising a little, and caught the tail-end of a cheery wave from Devrim Kay. After all the help he'd given her, it would have been unforgivably rude to snub him; ignoring the electric prickle of anxiety between her shoulders, she raised her own hand in response. Her discomfort intensified when people began to look around, as she'd known they would. There was a subtle shift in atmosphere. She felt the weight of their regard pressing down on her. Their faces blurred together, becoming illegible in the twilight.</p><p>Dewdrop settled into the crook of her shoulder, a tiny warmth against her neck. “Not everyone's watching us. We aren't that interesting, sorry to say.”</p><p>At any other time, Tal might have laughed. Now, all she could think of was the empty hunger in those other Guardians' eyes. Did they think she and Dewdrop were callous, parading their connection around as if this were just another day at the Tower? How long could a fading Ghost even continue to live without the Light they’d been forged in? Nobody had ever tested it before. This wasn't the first time that particular thought had occurred to her, but she'd always shut it down before it ran to its logical conclusion. The possibilities she was imagining now made her clench her fists, keeping the fire corralled with an effort that felt almost physical. People were still staring. There was no sign of Hawthorne. Then came the most fearsome sight of all: Shaxx, who towered over most of the crowd by at least a head, was cutting a path through them with serious intent in every line of his body. He was bearing down on her.</p><p>Given better circumstances, she might have slipped away quietly. As it was, she turned and ran.</p><p>Drawing the fullness of her Light around her like a cloak, she sprinted round the back of the buildings and, once hidden, let herself float up the rocky slope behind them. Only when she was concealed among the pines did she begin to relax. Dewdrop stuck close to her; she could feel her Ghost's bewildered frustration warring with shared relief at having made their escape. The latter was temporary. Shame began to set in. She would have to go back at some point, or else keep walking until she crossed into hostile territory...</p><p>Something far heavier than any forest animal crashed through the undergrowth to her left, moving faster than she had. She spun on her heel, flames igniting in an uncontrolled rush, and threw up her hands. Dewdrop's sharp cry of “Don't!” came alongside Tal's own burst of recognition; even without the storm-roar of his Light signature, there was no mistaking the shadow that loomed in front of her. She hadn't managed to evade Shaxx after all. A trickle of horror at what she'd almost done ran down her back, extinguishing the fire where it made contact.</p><p>“What do you think you're playing at, Dawnblade?” he said, without any attempt at preamble. He did not seem at all perturbed by his close brush with incineration. “They want to see you.”</p><p><em>No, they don't </em>warred in Tal's head with <em>How in all the worlds did you manage to catch up with me? </em>Either one would turn into an excruciating roar of static if she tried to come out with it, so she remained silent. It was Dewdrop who snapped, “They want to stare!”</p><p>“And?” Most of the Guardian refugees Tal had met seemed to be collapsing in on themselves; they hunched over, drawing their limbs in close to centre mass, and spoke in hushed tones if they said anything at all. Shaxx, every bit as mortal as the rest of them, was the same overwhelming presence he had been before the Light died. He addressed himself to Dewdrop now, who bobbed back a couple of paces. “She stands out. I’m not sure why you’re both set on pretending otherwise.”</p><p>“What,” said Dewdrop, emboldened by protective fury, “is that supposed to mean?”</p><p>“She's the Guardian,” Shaxx said. The definite article hung heavy in the air between them. He wasn't quite shouting yet, much to Tal's astonishment. “I don't know why that relic chose her over everyone else -” he sounded like he'd have some choice words to share with it, given the opportunity “- but when it did, it made her a beacon for all the survivors. Proof the Light hasn't left us for good, that maybe we don't have to sit by and watch the enemy drain us dry. We've got plenty of gifted fighters. What we need is a symbol.” His helmet tilted, regarding her. “I was coming over to ask if you'd make the sun rise for them.”</p><p>“Put herself on display?” Dewdrop’s words were laced with a bitterness Tal had only guessed at. “It's not all happy symbol-of-hope stuff, what people are saying about us. 'Why just her? How did she get out? She was with the Cabal leader when it happened, wasn't she? Nobody else made it that far. Why would they let her live if -'”</p><p>“Stop it!” Tal said, words coming out amidst an explosive crackle. Her need to check Dewdrop had overridden her fear of speaking in front of all but the tiny group of people she trusted to be patient. <em>Slow down</em>, she thought, reaching for Rue's voice in her head.<em> Take it word by word. I know it’s a mechanical issue, but panicking doesn’t help.</em> It was hard to hang on to that awareness with Shaxx looming large in front of her, but she tried. “I – I'm right here.” Fuzzy, but audible.</p><p>“I noticed. Well?” Incredibly, his voice grew gentler. “You don't have to say a thing. Just let your Light do the talking.”</p><p>The fire stirred at that, licking out toward him as if he still had some residual energy of his own. Tal held very still, kept the image of a party lantern in her head until it settled into a more benign shape. The flame’s steadiness steadied her in turn. Nonetheless, she hesitated. “Aer – aer -” <em>Aerial scouts. </em>She’d been so sure she would be able to spit that one out. Something in her chest tightened when Dewdrop said it for her.</p><p>“Not in my airspace,” Shaxx said, with more than a trace of affront. “Or Hawthorne's, I should say. If they ever get that close, we'll need you lit up anyway.”</p><p>Dewdrop latched on to one of Tal’s thoughts, turned it into an excuse she was no longer sure she wanted to make. “Hawthorne won't like it.”</p><p>“I had a word with her,” Shaxx said. Words, it sounded like; Tal could imagine the back-and-forth. “She wasn’t sure about it at first, but she likes the idea now.”</p><p>Tal suspected <em>likes </em>was overstating the matter. Still, she’d lost her last line of argument before <em>I don’t want to </em>– and she wasn’t sure whether that one even held true any more. In the softer light of memory, those faces back at camp seemed more fearful and desperate than hostile. If she could help them in some way that went beyond ensuring their basic survival, deliver hope like Guardians were supposed to… well, she wasn’t about to try comforting them with a speech.</p><p>If she’d had her old coat on, she would have been tugging at the cuffs by now. The ones on her borrowed gear were too tight to fidget with. She clenched her fist, fingers digging into the palm of her glove, and nodded.</p><p>“Knew you had it in you, Dawnblade,” Shaxx said. She could hear his grin, the sharp, approving ferocity of it. “Berwari wouldn’t have looked twice at you if you didn’t.” He must have read her reaction to Rue’s name, because his voice softened to a degree she hadn’t thought he was capable of. “She’ll be fine. She’s with Saladin, isn’t she? We’ll see rainfall on Mercury again before anything takes that old sod down, Light or no Light.”</p><p>The hot swell of fear in Tal’s chest eased off a little. Thinking back to all the times she’d seen Rue and Saladin fight together, she knew what he meant. Maybe they’d held the Peak, or at least survived its fall intact. Maybe she could imagine they had, keep imagining it long enough to get her through this.</p><p>The walk back seemed longer than it had any right to be. Tal was acutely aware of how she must have looked, fleeing the place without so much as a glance over her shoulder. Would they even want whatever small measure of hope she had to offer? She had heard the same mutterings as Dewdrop, as hard as she’d tried to shut them out. It didn’t help that she couldn’t make sense of the Shard’s choice herself. Without Rue, she would still be nobody; a stuttering, struggling Warlock, nursing an adoration for Ikora Rey and a bitter resentment toward almost everybody else. Rue had taken her on as second, raised her up and wrapped her in the banner of a champion. She’d had an easier ride from there, basking in that reflected light – and then Lord Saladin had elevated them both even further. Felwinter Peak had become her home. Hemmed in by old grief and new fears, she’d stumbled into happiness without realising it.</p><p>Ikora Rey would be mortal, now. The thought brought Tal up short as they hit the first set of outbuildings. If anyone deserved to carry the last lingering shreds of the Traveller’s Light, it was her Vanguard commander. She herself didn’t even make the reserve list.</p><p>Before she had time to process it, they were in among the crowd. People fell away in front of her and Shaxx, tugging others along with them. She caught sight of Hawthorne waiting by the fountain, and a disproportionate wave of relief washed over her. Without meaning to, she sped up.</p><p>“Stand next to me,” Hawthorne said, in a low voice. There was a feathery glob stuck to her sleeve; she must have come straight from feeding Louis. “You okay?” The question was unexpected. “You don’t have to do this, you know. We’ve got plenty of other entertainment. They can go and kick a ball around by lamplight or something.”</p><p>“We want to,” Dewdrop said, speaking for both of them. Then, with a little more conviction: “We want to do this.”</p><p>Hawthorne noticed the glob and flicked it off into the grass, solving Tal’s dilemma over whether to point it out. “Just as long as you’re sure.” She stepped away with a parting shot of, “Don’t set fire to the feed sheds. I spent forever restocking them last week.”</p><p><em>Solar Light doesn’t work that way, </em>Tal wanted to retort – but she wasn’t as certain of that as she wanted to be. The wildfire that raged inside her now was nothing like a sun-song, and she had never even come close to mastering that art before it was snatched away. Every time she’d tried to meditate her way into a greater understanding of the flame, it had died before she could even start: candles snuffed out, suns collapsing in on themselves. It was one area where Rue hadn’t been able to help her; try as she might, she wasn’t a Warlock, and her discomfort with the void almost matched Tal’s skittishness when it came to fire.</p><p><em>You could always jump in the fountain, </em>Dewdrop said unhelpfully. Shaxx was speaking, but his voice sounded distant. She couldn’t even focus on ordinary speech, never mind the leaping, shifting qualities of solar energy. How was she supposed to do this outside battle? It was hard enough when spurred on by the urgency of a fight. He motioned her forward. She went, moving on autopilot, and took up the position they’d agreeed on. People sat waiting, arranged in a crescent at minimum safe distance.</p><p>The fire wouldn’t come. Icy panic settled in Tal’s chest, began to coil itself around her throat. This was why she’d always favoured the void; it was easier to work with when you were afraid. She could see individual faces in the crowd. All the goodwill she’d been willing to extend to them up in the woods faded away. They were hostile again, every one of them ready to laugh and mock her if she made a misstep. If she couldn’t even sing to the sun, what hope did she have of making it rise?</p><p><em>But we’re not singing to the sun now, </em>Dewdrop said, the words as clear as if they’d been spoken out loud. <em>We’re singing to the dawn.</em></p><p><em>To the hope of another sunrise. </em>The words took shape inside Tal’s head, free of input from her or her Ghost. Try as she might, she couldn’t push her panic down when looking at the people in front of her. Instead, she closed her eyes to them.</p><p>There was no sudden rush of flame. In her mind’s eye, she saw a sky speckled with stars. A thin line of light ran along the eastern horizon. She turned her face up to it, raised her hands in supplication – or celebration, she wasn’t sure which. It grew and grew. Golden fingers stretched out toward her, but she didn’t take them. She couldn’t stop the sun from rising, but she could encourage it to do so at her own pace. On the tail of that thought, Dewdrop let out a soundless cheer.</p><p>Tal opened her eyes. With some surprise, she realised flames were licking from her fingertips all the way up to her shoulders. The fear that suppressed her when she tried to wield the fire to its fullest potential was still there, but it had been reduced to a background process. It would stay dormant long enough for her to do this. Sparks fell, but she folded them back into the inferno before they could land on the damp grass.</p><p>There was a ringing in her head. She reached out to the dawn and plucked a singing sword from the air.</p><p>A few people gasped. Others tried to shuffle back, even though there was already a substantial gap between her and the front row. The fire was a thin veil over her eyes; it was easier to look at them from behind the safety of that barrier. Still, she felt more than a little foolish. What was she supposed to do now? Just stand there clutching the hilt until she exhausted herself? That wouldn’t take long, not with all her energy channelled into containing the fire instead of wielding it. The one option she could think of was embarrassingly showy and obvious. Rolling her eyes at herself, Tal hefted the weightless, insubstantial blade high above her head.</p><p>It sounded like there were voices muttering underneath the roar, but she couldn’t pinpoint a source in the crowd. She could see individual faces again, resolving and dissolving in the shimmering heat. With a little wrench, she spotted Tyra sitting between two human militia members. No hint of recognition showed in her when their eyes met. Banishing memories of hot mock-cocoa and history lessons on the Peak steps, Tal tore her eyes away and searched for someone else to anchor her. Awe, fear, envy, hope, admiration… she couldn’t bring herself to linger on faces that hinted at any of those emotions. Her gaze snagged on Hawthorne’s, sitting near the front. None of that was evident in her. Instead, she looked thoughtful - assessing, maybe.</p><p>The fire died almost without warning. Someone let out an explosive breath. Tal was left standing with her arms in the air; it took her a few seconds to drop them. Anxiety began to creep back into the vacuum heat had left behind. Her overriding fear was that she might be expected to speak, never mind what Shaxx had said. Someone might ask her a question, and then where would she be?</p><p>“Right,” Hawthorne said, standing up. “Light show’s over. Who wants food?”</p><p>There were scattered cheers. People started to stand up and slope away towards the fire, a few of them hovering to glance back at Tal first. Conquering the fear once never made any difference afterward; her desire to flee was just as strong as ever. The only one who approached her was Hawthorne, followed by Devrim a few moments later.</p><p>“I’m glad it’s been a good year,” Hawthorne muttered. It took Tal a moment to realise the words were aimed at her as much as Devrim. “Didn’t plan on needing this much mash for the festival.” She stopped. “Okay. I wasn’t convinced at first, but you pulled it off without setting anything but yourself on fire. That’s good enough for me. And the City refugees seemed to be into it. Maybe it’ll help get them through the next few weeks.”</p><p><em>What did you think of it? </em>Even without a severe speech impediment, Tal wasn’t sure she’d be brave enough to ask. Dewdrop picked up the conversation instead. “Thank you.” A pause. “What goes into 'mash'?”</p><p>“The humble spud,” Hawthorne said, in a Devrim impression that was convincing enough to surprise Tal into laughter. The sound was involuntary, impossible to suppress; it grated, crackled, and flickered out halfway through. On the periphery of her vision, a couple of people turned to look. She wanted to take to her heels and run without stopping until she made it to the edge of the woods. Panic welled up, threatening to break her open at the seams.</p><p>Devrim himself snorted, bringing her back to earth. “Yes, all right, Suraya.” Neither he nor Hawthorne seemed perturbed by the noises Tal’s throat was making.</p><p>“Go on,” Hawthorne said, grinning at him. “Say it. You know you want to.”</p><p>He gave her a distinctly unimpressed look. Then he spoke, sounding resigned, and she sang the words in chorus with him: “Does anyone fancy a cup of tea?”</p><p>Without warning, Tal’s voicebox cut out. The silence made her head hurt. Looking at the two of them together reminded her too much of Efrideet and Saladin – worse, of herself and Rue. She closed her eyes against the sight, stoppered her ears. The fire was still burning, a steady flame somewhere deep down at her core; there was no well of cold energy inside her to suffocate it.</p><p>All the stars in her vision had faded. In their place, she saw a sky full of light.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Me: [frantically digging through the lyrics to Thea Gilmore's 'Sol Invictus' in search of a title for this]</p><p>Continuing my tradition of posting seasonal Destiny fic well outside the appropriate season - have a Festival of the Lost fic uploaded during the Dawning! Part of this was written not long after D2 came out; I just thought it would be fun to deal with that awkward time period where only one Guardian had managed to get their Light back from the Shard. ...I also feel like it works as an end-of-2020 fic in some ways, so.</p><p>Thank you for reading! All comments/kudos/etc. are appreciated. ♥</p></blockquote></div></div>
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